For Love is Everlasting
by Deep Forest Green
Summary: A series of Valjean/Fantine oneshots. Fluffy, funny, angsty, tragic, and everything in between. Rated T for later chapters. Now beta'd by Elodie.Haven.
1. As Long as I am Living

**AU where Fantine lives and escapes with Valjean to the convent. ****Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or setting, nor do I have anything beyond the most rudimentary knowledge of nineteenth-century shaving techniques. **

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Fantine adored Jean Valjean. Not only was he wealthy, a saint and her personal savior, he was the only person she had ever met who truly understood what she had been through. True, he had been a convict laborer and not a whore, but one form of slavery to society was no different than another. Furthermore, he was the only person who was willing to talk about it. Under any other circumstances, they both would have suffered in silence. But now that they had each other, they could finally be honest with themselves. And she never loved him more than when he did something completely out of the blue- like carrying her over a brick wall in the dead of night with the police hot on their tails.

"_Now _do you regret marrying me?" he asked her three days later, as he came into the convent for the second time after spending the night in a casket.

"Never," said Fantine firmly, carressing her husband's cheek once they were safe inside their chamber. The stone walls were cold around them, but all they felt was warmth. "Jean, that was incredible. What you did was so brave. I don't think I could have been nearly as clever as you. And- " she whispered wickedly- "it was a little bit of a thrill, too."

"It's Ultime now," said Valjean, looking straight ahead out the frosty window. His eyes were both the calm and the storm, a dull muddy brown that seemed to reflect the trees and earth with the seasons. When Fantine looked into them, she felt as though she were looking directly into Nature's soul.

"Oh, Ultime is such an ugly name," Fantine moaned, huddling closer. "And now I am to pretend to be your daughter, and Cosette your granddaughter... But Jean, loving you like I do... How long can we keep up this lie?"

"Please, do not call me Jean," said Valjean confidentially, "even here in private. Fauchelevent might hear us."

"Fauchelevent would not care if your name was Lucifer and you had a tail and horns, he would keep you hidden here whatever it takes. As it is- " she rolled over, kitten-like, and stared up at him. The words were unspoken between them; he was nothing less than a fallen angel in her eyes. "I like Fauchelevent, Jean. I can't thank him enough for what he's done for our family. Yes, family; that's what we have now. I hardly dared to think it before, much less say it. He is like the father I never had. Such a sweet old man- I mean, so are you, but you're not _that _old, and I don't think about him that way- " she stopped, her face bright red with embarrassment, then abruptly sat up. "I'm just so glad you didn't smother to death in that horrid coffin. Fauchelevent told me how worried he was when he opened the lid and your face was pale and you weren't breathing and- oh, Jean, I'm just so glad you're alive. You're such a survivor, I'm sure you must have a guardian angel."

"I do," he said, stroking Fantine's golden hair. But he stole a glance up at the ceiling and acknowledged the presence of Bishop Myriel.

"Oh dear, Jean," said Fantine, examining his face.

"What's wrong, ma chérie?"

"You've grown a beard," she said, fingering the light flecks of stubble on his neck and chin. Even though the hair on the top of his head was white as snow, his beard seemed to have escaped this fate, as it was pale silver with even a few flecks of its former dark brown around the edges. It was as if only his beard had avoided the stress of Champmathieu's trial by the fortune that it had not been present. "You haven't had a chance to shave since we left Montfermeil. You're hairy as a - " she stopped herself before she said "convict."

"And what's the matter with my having a beard, if I may ask?" he said, half-jokingly. "Don't I have the right to make choices like that for myself?"

"It is not right for a man in a sanctuary to have a beard," said Fantine. "It is not the mark of a holy man."

"Our Savior had a beard," Valjean pointed out.

"Yes, but you are not- " she stopped herself for the third time. "I will shave it for you. Right here, right now. Are you ready? I shall go get some cream." She got off the bed.

Valjean shrugged. The only reason he was agreeing to this was that Cosette seemed to be on her mother's side. Yesterday, when he had kissed her forehead, she had winced and complained about "Papa's scratchy beard." He had not related this incident to Fantine, as she merely would have laughed it off. Also, Cosette seemed to associate facial hair with drunkenness and maliciousness, due to her days living underfoot the drunks at the Thénardier inn. Monsieur Thénardier himself had a very impressive mustache and goatee, and now, Cosette recoiled in fear at the sight of all men who were not completely clean-shaven. She barely seemed to recognize Valjean as the same man who had come for her at Montfermeil. Perhaps if he were to keep the beard she would just get used to it in time, but for now, it simply would not do for Cosette to be afraid of him. Personally, he liked the beard, if only because it kept his face and neck warm in the winter. True, it reminded him of his convict days, but at least he had some control over it, and well-trimmed it made him feel like a gentleman. But alas, in this battle it was two against one.

Fantine re-entered the room, carrying a shaving kit. "You're going to have to teach me," she said, sitting down next to him. "I've never shaved a man's face before. Really, you have no idea how hard it is to find a shaving kit in a convent. I asked Fauchelevent, but he just stared at me as if I had lost my mind. Finally I found one in the Monsigneur's office, where he apparently keeps an extra. I'll just use a little cream, I doubt he'll even notice."

Valjean smiled. Normally he would reprimand her for stealing, but he decided he'd just leave a note and a little money in the Monsigneur's office, enough to buy a bottle of shaving cream. Fauchelevent would vouch for him. "The trick is to stir it with the pestle until you get a good lather," he said. "Then, you slather it on with your bare hands- here, take this cloth- and hold the razor at a tight angle, like this."

He guided her hand as she moved her lithe wrist slowly around the rim of the bowl. "I can do it," she protested softly, her fingers gathering foam trails and, of their own will, performing a delicate dance that mesmerized her. The foam was so rich and pure, it looked like icing, and she had to resist the temptation to lick it off. Cake with icing was a luxury she had had on a few occasions, when she was in Paris the first time. After she lost her job at the factory, she thought she would never have it again.

She obeyed his instructions to dab the foam onto the cloth. She rubbed it first, to make sure it was smooth and even. Then she placed her hand gently just below his left temple and began to draw it lovingly down his cheek. He smiled as she swirled the foam artistically in great big circles, like a painter's apprentice set loose for the first time upon her canvas. It wasn't as if she had zero experience with shaving- as a prostitute, she had had to shave her legs and armpits every other day. It was difficult and time-consuming, and sometimes painful as well, like when she cut her armpit and had to bandage it up to avoid getting an infection, disguising the bandage as a corsage. But there was no beauty in that, no artistry. Now, Jean Valjean would be her blank slate, just as she would be his.

The lathering was done. The skin on his cheeks was moist and ready. It was time to begin the hard part- the actual shave.

Fantine unsheathed the blade and held it steady. She realized now that she didn't know the first thing about male hygiene. She had never seen Félix or any of his friends shave, though they always appreared before her miraculously clean-shaven. It had never occurred to her that baby-smooth cheeks were a thing to be maintained, not taken for granted. There were so many things about her ex-beau that she had never noticed. _Don't think about Félix now,_ she ordered herself. _You'll start crying and lose your focus and end up cutting Jean. Just keep your eyes close to his face and follow the path of the razor blade. Do not make Jean suffer because you were a fool in your past._

His face remained stoic as she traced his rugged jawline with the edge of her blade. She wondered if she was really doing a good job or if he was just doing what he did best- suffering silently for the sake of another's happiness. She suspected the latter but didn't dare to ask. She wished with all her heart that she could know for sure, that she could read his mind without being terrified of what she might see. She had to know what was in there so that she wouldn't hurt him. If she ever hurt him- even in a small way, even by accident- she would never forgive herself. She still hadn't forgiven herself for spitting in his face when he had been trying to help her. She knew that he hadn't forgiven himself for his mistake in allowing her to be dismissed, and that he would be harder on himself in the future than she ever could be. Maybe it was just the saintliness of this place, but she dared to believe that it was more; that it was the saintliness within him. Nobody goes looking for a saint, but when you find one, you don't pass it up for anything. Even though she was learning that being married to one could sometimes prove exhausting.

"I'm done," she told him, and held up a mirror. "Look at yourself."

He took the mirror from her and examined his face in the dim light. Flecks of pure white laced his jaw in spots that Fantine, in her inexperience, had missed. He picked up a dry cloth from the bedside table and discreetly wiped off the excess foam.

"You look very handsome," she told him.

"I look like Madeleine," he said tensely, recoiling a bit from his reflection. As a disguise, he now realized with a bit of horror, both options were now impractical. With a beard he would be recognized as Jean Valjean, and without he would be recognized as Madeleine, who was Jean Valjean no less. A pair of large mutton-chops might do the trick, but that would just look silly. His reading glasses, resting low on his nose, would suffice to make him look chaste, like he belonged- at least, as much as a man could belong in a nunnery.

"Don't worry about it," she said lightheartedly, stroking his tender, freshly shaven cheek. "Everyone thinks you're dead, remember? And even if they didn't, the last place anyone is going to come looking for you is a convent."

"At least if they do come, they won't be able to take Cosette away," he said stoically, as if to himself. "They can take me, but she has rights now. She has a legal identity, and most importantly, she has you."

"Don't say such things," said Fantine with concern. "You worry me when you talk that way. A child needs a mother _and _a father growing up. I should know, because I didn't have either one, and look how I almost turned out- but for God's grace and you. For my sake and Cosette's, you must promise to think sometimes of youself."

"All right, Fantine. I promise."

They held each other in the silence of the convent, the orphans, the boy raised by his sister and the girl named by a passing stranger, the convict, the grisette, the woman whose name meant "infantile" and the man whose name meant "Here's Jean", these two who had come from nowhere and nothing and would to thence return. But in between, a child had brought them together, a child that no one else wanted. And they each silently swore to the other that they would always be together, _as long as I am living_.

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**A/N: What do you think? Should I continue? Do you have any fluffy or angsty one-shot ideas for Valjean/Fantine? Tell me in the reviews! **


	2. Look Down on Him in Mercy

**Summary: Fantine's ghost's perspective as Valjean carries Marius through the sewers.**

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Upon arriving in limbo, the first thing they did was tell me his real name. Jean Valjean. I never heard it from his own lips, but hearing it from Saint-Pierre was the next best thing.

This is far above and beyond anything I ever would have asked of him. First going to the barricades to look for Marius, and now this. When I made him promise to take care of my daughter, I never imagined that anything like this would come up in a million years, but I love him all the more for doing it. I can only hope that this Marius fellow is worth it; that he is my daughter's true love and will bring her nothing but security and happiness. Even I wasn't stupid enough to fall in love at first sight. If he turns out to be anything like Félix, I shall bring my eternal wrath down upon him. The fact that he fought in a revolution indicates that he is not, but I worry about his sanity if he become suicidal at the possibility of losing Cosette. And the way he treated Éponine shows that he may be a rather shallow and oblivious, if not downright cruel, person. She may have been a bully to Cosette at one time, but it was only because her parents were doing it, and it certainly didn't deserve the death penalty.

It is strange to have a daughter who is nearly the same age as you.

Oh, how I wish that I had told Jean my entire story, so he could have warned Cosette not to fall into the same trappings of which no one warned me! I was too embarrassed to tell him, for fear that he might judge me; but now I know better and it is too late. How horrible for a mother not to be there for her daughter, for a wife not to be there for her husband-in-spirit! Had it occurred, the earthly realm might have called it a marriage of convenience, and it would have been convenient- for deepest love.

The sewers are dark, but I can see clearly. The water is rising now. He is up to his neck in it. I did not think it was possible to die twice. Until it was about to happen to me, I scarcely thought it possible to die once. But I am dying a second time as I watch this man I love so dearly suffering so much for- let's face it- my sake. Every step, every stain upon his sacred body, fills me with great anger at the injustice in the world. I would give anything to be at his side, giving him support and guidance. But alas, it is not to be for us. Not now. In his hour of need, I am powerless. There is no worse feeling. Believe me; I know. It is a small comfort to know that never once has he regretted his promise to me.

First Champmathieu, then Javert, and now Marius. I would say he was stupid if I did not realize that this was not so. He is killing himself for his family, strangers, and even enemies; and in a terrible way it makes me happy that he is becoming closer to me every day. Bent and humbled, covered in filth, he is more handsome than ever to me because he radiates a saint's divine light. The strength in his muscles is nothing compared to the strength in his soul; one will soon give out, while the other will endure forever.

I silently pray for God to bring him home. _Please, don't let him drown down here. Don't let him fall and never be found. Don't rob him of any more of his dignity. Don't let him get lost. Let him see his child again. _It is the first time I have thought of her as his child. It pains me, but what rightful claim do I have over her now? She is not even 'ours'.

Did you not think that angels must sometimes pray too?

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Who is that man speaking to him beside the gate? He seems vaguely familiar.

My throat catches as I realize that it is Monsieur Thénardier, the husband of that vile woman who treated my Cosette like a slave, and who is in his own right a very vile man. He is going by some other name now, and has tried on three separate occasions to rob Jean. Jean's only hope is to remain in the shadows so that he is not recognized.

Oh, thank God! Thénardier has a key. Salvation is yet possible. Oh, monsieur, I will forgive you everything if you let Jean out of here unharmed.

Jean, in his resourcefulness, gives Thénardier the ring. The rich boy has been robbed; so be it. It is a small price to pay for my daughter's hand. The gate opens and light floods in. The hard part of Jean's journey is over. I was not a religious woman in life, but I have found something to worship since then. Or rather, someone.

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It is Javert.

No, not Javert. Not now. Oh, Jean, why do you have to be such a hero all the time?

Javert folds his arms and says something about bringing criminals to justice. Jean keeps his head. Just like the time on my deathbed- I would never forget that dark, furious face. I am proud of the fact that my last action as a living woman was to rise out of bed to defend Jean.

Jean says something, softly without raising his voice, but Javert seems to back off just a tiny bit. This is Jean's power. He insists on getting a carriage for Marius to take him to his grandfather's house. Javert is breaking. He holds up a gun- and then drops it into the river.

Jean's good deed has inspired mercy. Javert is human, after all, and Jean works miracles.

_Cosette, if you ever do anything to hurt your papa, you will answer to me. _


	3. You Were There and Turned Aside

**summary: set in an isolated wing of the police headquarters shortly after Fantine's arrest**

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The mayor walked in, the wind at his back, and approached the crouching, sobbing figure of Fantine. He looked very handsome and sophisticated in his winter jacket, she noticed. His coat tails formed a warm cocoon around his thighs, and his high collar gracefully hugged his neck and shoulders, with the edges gently brushing his cheeks. His cravat was tied loosely above his shirt, and his pant legs were tucked into his boots to protect his ankles from the bitter snow. His gloves were made of the finest leather, and as he entered, he tipped off his top hat to her, then kneeled down swiftly at her side. Fantine was torn between sheepishly admiring his appearance- like a schoolgirl- and turning green with envy and anger over his thick, expensive clothing- like a woman of the streets.

"Mademoiselle, please let me help you," said Madeleine, placing a hand on her shoulder to show his goodwill. The touch of his glove was warm and comforting. "Believe me when I tell you that I know what you're going through."

The sick woman scoffed. "How can you possibly know, Madeleine? Is this your idea of a joke? You're a bourgeois; you don't know what it's like to see men at their worst. You haven't seen the way they treat you when they suddenly decide that you're disposable. You haven't been bought and sold and worked and used and mistreated. You haven't been punished for trying to do right by your family. You have no idea what my life has been, how everything can go downhill with no end in sight. You've never been completely alone and without hope."

"You are wrong, Mademoiselle," said Madeleine, tears welling up in his eyes. "You don't know how wrong you are. I know exactly how you are feeling at this moment. And I know how hard it is, when someone offers you a better path, to reach out and accept it. It is easy to feel that you are unworthy. But it is worth it, trust me."

"Spare me your crocodile tears," Fantine told him bitterly. "I trust that your intentions are good, but I don't want your pity. I don't want anyone's pity. I only want my daughter. But she's probably dead now, thanks to you."

"Mademoiselle, I believe that it is you who do not understand how hard my life has been," said Madeleine harshly, losing his patience. "You were a whore for two weeks. I was a prisoner for nineteen years."

That made Fantine fall silent.

"Monsieur le Maire- "

"Yes, it's true. My name is not Madeleine but Jean Valjean. Everything you think you know about me is a lie that I have invented to keep myself from going back to Toulon. Do you have any idea what a chain gang looks like, Fantine? Or even a chain? Do you know how it feels to wear shackles on your wrists all day, every day, and at night? If you did, you would know that your brief employment at the bead factory was a byproduct of my past misfortune. If I had been a real gentleman, if I had never been a slave to the law, I would not have needed to create this ruse. I too had children to feed- seven, not one- and they were not even my own. The whole town of Montreuil owes a great debt to the late Bishop Myriel of Digne, but also to the police officers who arrested me for stealing bread all those years ago."

His words made no sense to her, but everything in his voice spoke truth. Fantine looked back up at his eyes, and his anger seemed to have held back his tears. "You now have the power to ruin me," he warned her. "But it would be very unwise. For if you did, you would also be ruining yourself, your daughter, and those lovely people who take care of her for you, as well as everyone in this entire city. So, are you planning to tell anyone?"

Fantine gulped. "N-no, Monsieur le Maire," she stammered.

"Good. Do you think that I am a liar?"

"O-Only in what you said before just now."

"Don't let Javert get to you. I knew him before too, in the chain gang. He was always the one with a stick so far up his nose that it poked his brain." He sniffed importantly, widening his nostrils, and crossed his eyes in an impression of the Inspector. He deepened his voice and muttered something about 'the Lawr' through clenched teeth. Fantine laughed; she had to admit that it was a decent impression.

Madeleine dropped his shoulders and became serious again. "Do you trust me?" he asked her.

"Yes, Monsieur le Maire."

"Call me Madeleine," he said to her softly. "But think of me as Jean Valjean." He wrapped his woolen jacket around her bony shoulders, allowing the two to share their warmth.

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**a/n: what did you think of the description at the beginning? I always had a bit of a crush on Madeleine-era Valjean; he is definitely the hottest out of all the times we see Valjean. I love the costumes he wears- they're just so classy. **


	4. The Distributions of God

**Summary: Fantine's ghost walks with Valjean during his nightly patrols as a Guard.**

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"Lovely evening for a stroll, Monsieur," said the spirit as she appeared beside Fauchelevent. "Making your rounds, I see? May I say, you look very handsome in your Guard uniform."

"Thank you, mademoiselle," he said, smiling slightly as he turned the corner.

"I feel much safer knowing that there are brave men like you out there protecting our fair city." She smiled up at him. "You know, Monsieur le Gendarme, you remind me of a mayor I once knew. He was a good, dutiful man who served his town well into middle age. Is Monsieur expecting any trouble tonight?"

"Well, there have been rumors of a student uprising that could take place any day now. And of course, gangs are always a danger on these streets."

"And if the student uprising were to break out tonight, then of course Monsieur would be duty-bound to suppress it?"

"Of course," said Jean stiffly, not wanting to think about it. "But I would do everything I could to negotiate a peaceful surrender before I fired a single shot."

"In order to fit in," Fantine whispered.

Jean nodded. "To fit in," he agreed.

"Monsieur must remember that he has a daughter who would be quite lost and alone if anything were to happen to him," she said.

"I doubt it," he said. "I am of little importance to her."

"Do no say such things, Monsieur," the scandalized ghost chided him. "She may have found a young man to love, but that does not mean that she has any less love for her father." She rested a hand upon his shoulder to prove her point.

"Why am I seeing you more often?" he asked her. "Not that I'm complaining, of course, but...am I going insane? Has living in the convent with no one but Cosette for company begun to take its toll on my sanity?"

"No," said Fantine sympathetically. "You have a strong soul. A man who emerged sane after nineteen years on a chain gang can endure anything, especially with Cosette at his side. If you don't mind my bragging a bit, I think she is the best comfort a man could have in his old age."

"Then what does this mean?"

"That you are dying, Monsieur," said Fantine.

"Dying?" Jean repeated incredulously.

"Yes, of old age. Time will catch up on you all at once, simply as that."

"How much longer do I have?"

"A year, more or less. You will be seeing me more often as the date gets closer."

Jean turned to her. "Fantine, going on without you is the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

"You're doing a fantastic job, mon cher."

"When will I die?"

"I don't know exactly. But I do know that it will be painless, like falling asleep."

"Like you."

Fantine nodded. "Like me."

"And Cosette will have someone to care for her?"

"You will see to it, Jean. If it is the last thing you do."

He nodded firmly. "Yes. I will."

"And soon, these conversations won't be just in your head. They'll be real, up there." She pointed to the sky. "And we can have them every day, forever."

"There's nothing I'd like better, Fantine. Truly, I'd do anything to bring you back." He swallowed hard. "It should have been me dying, instead of you. I was old, and you were so very young."

She kissed him on the cheek. "Don't worry about it, mon amour. Such are the distributions of God."


	5. The Bravest Thing She Ever Did

The bravest thing she ever did was learning to love again.

She had suffered heartbreak, abandonment, ridicule, unwanted pregnancy, unemployment, homelessness, hunger, cold, disease, exploitation, and becoming a pariah. After what Félix did to her and Cosette, she swore that she would never let another man into her heart.

She had gone to Paris to seek adventure, then returned home to a town that had never cared for her. She had lived a lie for years; afterwards living on the streets, fighting back against those who treated her as little more than an object to be discarded. She had hardened her heart and closed off her soul. Yet even in her darkest moments, she never stopped trusting those she could not trust, nor hoping for that which could not be.

She suffered through hell for her daughter; but her last thought was for the kind, handsome, mysterious mayor who had risked harsh gossip in order to rescue her from her desperate circumstances. Her last action as a living woman was to raise up her body on his behalf, against the cruel inspector who seemed to have it in for both of them. She could not let the mayor share her fate. Not only because he was Cosette's only hope, but because he was Fantine's kindred spirit, and in him she would live on. And as much as she wanted to, she did not blame him for not bringing Cosette to her.

As she lay ill, struggling to breathe, her face gaunt and her lips chapped and dry, Cosette was her escape. But she found even more solace in Madeleine, named for the whore who had been at Christ's side when he was crucified, and may or may not have loved him. She knew that Madeleine was not in love with her; that he was helping her solely out of the goodness of his own heart. But God, that only made her love him all the more.

The bravest thing she ever did was falling in love with Jean Valjean. And she knew, as she took her final breath, that she had made the right choice; that their love was, at the same time, doomed and meant to be.

For the first time in her life, Fantine believed in Heaven. Because she had seen it with her own eyes.

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**A/N: I know these are getting shorter and have very little plot, but that will change soon.**


	6. Fantine Feels Pretty

**Summary: AU where Fantine's friends have all come to Montreuil with her to work in Madeleine's factory. Every wealthy man in town wants Madeleine to marry his daughter, but Fantine has other ideas. Something a bit funnier and more lighthearted, because I like to write the more flirtatious side of Fantine's personality. Inspired by the song "I Feel Pretty" from West Side Story. No lyrics are reprinted here, so it's not against site rules. Just imagine Fantine's friends as sassy Puerto Rican girls with a flair for dancing. Or as the muses from Disney's Hercules.**

**Also, I am looking for a beta for this story. Please review or ****PM me if you are interested. All I ask is that you are as rabid (I mean passionate) about Valtine as I am.**

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"Fantine, what are you smiling at?" Dahlia asked haughtily as Fantine entered their shared room with a letter pressed to her chest in rapture and her head in the clouds. "A poor, unmarried grisette like you has no right to be so happy."

"I won't be unmarried or poor for much longer, Dahlia," said Fantine dreamily. "And neither will my daughter be fatherless. I told you we'd be legitimate, Dahlia, I told you but you didn't believe me. And now, I'll be the envy of the whole town." She clapped her hands together joyously for emphasis.

Dahlia gasped in horror and rushed over to her _pétite amie_. "Fantine, have you gone mad? Did you forget what happened to you the last time you trusted a man? The last time any of us did? Did you think we weren't heartbroken too, when those bastards up and left us with no warning at all? We may not have been pregnant, but we had our hearts broken. Did you think we could just laugh it off because we enjoyed making fun of our friend? No!" Dahlia shook Fantine's shoulders desperately, awaiting an answer. "What makes you think this mayor will be any different? He's a _mayor_. He can have any girl he wants, and one of these days he'll marry one of the bourgeois-to-a-penny things throwing themselves at his feet. What makes you think you'd stand a chance against them?"

"Our engagement will be official soon," Fantine told her smugly. "Of course, I'll have to hand in my resignation notice first, because he can't marry one of his employees, can he? Not if he wants to still be considered a gentleman."

"You're an even bigger fool than I thought," Dahlia exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips. "Can't you see that he's onto your affair with Tholomyès and is looking to get rid of you? So he leads you on, letting you think that you have a chance with him, and then bam! You won't have a job, a man, or a place to live. And next thing you know, your debt from that brat of yours will put you back out on the streets."

"Dahlia, if Madeleine wanted to get rid of me, he'd just do it," Fantine countered, not even bothering to defend Cosette. "He's not like that. There isn't a malicious bone in his body. Everyone in town will attest to that. And even if he did want to ruin me, why would he bother?" It was a rhetorical question. "Dahlia," she whispered confidentially, "I think he could be the one."

"Great," said Dahlia, shrugging wildly and turning away. "It's official- Fantine has gone crazy. First the affair when I thought you were all cautious and virginal and 'saving yourself', and now this. Honestly, 'Tine, I don't know who you are anymore. On top of the obvious class difference, he's old enough to be your father. He might even be your father, for all you know. Which brings me to the point that nobody knows anything about him. He could be anyone. Look, Fantine; you're young and beautiful; you can do better than these geezers you keep throwing yourself at. Get out there and find yourself a strapping workingman who can match you for looks, and forget your damsel-in-distress fantasies about being rescued by some middle-aged bourgeois. The rest of us have moved on; now it's your turn. It's people like him who keep us ordinary folks living day to day."

"Methinks Dahlia is jealous already," Fantine began, but just then their two other roommates walked in. 'Friends' was too strong a word to describe the quartet; it always had been, but more so now that the men were gone. The only thing keeping them together now was their shared employment at the Montreuil black jet factory, for which they had Fantine to thank. But they still blamed her for dragging them down into the working class when, after all, she was the one with the bastard child. Like they would have been able to avoid it anyway.

"What's going on?" Zéphine asked, witnessing the commotion.

"Zéphine, Favourite, thank God you're here," Dahlia exclaimed. "Help me talk some sense into this deranged child. Of all the eligible bachelors in this town, she's got her sights set on- you'll never guess who."

"Not the mayor," gasped Favourite, who loved hearing gossip almost as much as she loved spreading it.

"Fantine, you know you don't stand a chance with him," Zéphine told her gently.

"That's what I've been trying to tell her," Dahlia groaned in exasperation. "She won't listen to reason or anything resembling common sense. Even experience isn't enough to teach her a lesson."

"Always the incurable optimist, eh? Always seeing the best in everyone, even after proven wrong." Favourite put an arm over Fantine's shoulder and drew her in. "Fantine, we women have to stick together. It's not fair to the rest of us if one girl marries all our our boss. Because then she has the power to make the boss do whatever she wants with the other girls. You see?"

"Oh, I see, all right," Fantine told her. Despite her bad grammar, Favourite was more intelligent than she looked, and was probably the smartest of the group. This, along with her age, explained why she was the leader. "And I see that the green-eyed monster has its grip on our dear Favourite." She said the English name mockingly.

"Well, do you have any proof that the mayor has feelings for you? You know it's probably just lust. He'll have moved on by next week."

"I don't care what any of you think," Fantine retorted, losing her patience. "Laugh all you want, but I'm not inviting any of you to the wedding." She folded her arms and sat on the bed crossly, her face set.

"Come on, Fantine, I know you don't mean any harm." Dahlia wrapped her arm around her protégé and sat down beside her. In one moment, logic had been wiped away by loyalty to her friend. "You had it the worst of all of us, so now you deserve the best. We neglected you, and we all owe you an apology. And no matter what Favourite here says, we'll find a way to help you." She glowered harshly at Favourite, who glared right back.

"Yes, we will," Zéphine agreed, taking her place at Fantine's other side in defiance of Favourite. "We trust you, and we'll make sure the mayor knows that you return his feelings for him."

"But how?" Fantine asked.

"If you're confident that he truly loves you, then you shouldn't fear being dismissed," Favourite told her.

"We'll be secretive. We have our ways." Dahlia winked and flashed a grin.

"But we may call upon you sometime for a favor in return," Zéphine added.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," huffed Favourite, not even caring enough to sabotage them. "I'm leaving. For the record, I had no part in this." She turned and slammed the door behind her.

"We'll get his maid to slip a note in with his breakfast tray one morning," Dahlia told Fantine once Favourite had left. "I know a nun, Sister Simplice. She can keep a secret, but she never lies."

"Oh, thank you both so much," Fantine said, putting her hands in their laps and weeping with happiness. "I swear, I won't ever be able to repay you. How did I ever get along before I met you?"

"I don't know, Fantine," Dahlia told her. "But if you're looking for a maid of honor, I know where you can find one who looks stunning in pink."

"Those men weren't all bad," Zéphine remarked. "They gave us each other."

"And Cosette," Fantine added.

Dahlia held her hand. "And Cosette."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! I think that if they had stayed together longer, Fantine's friends would have become more protective and mature, and their relationship would have developed into something more cohesive. After all, it's not their fault that Félix dumped Fantine. But Favourite seems like the bitchiest of all of them, the ringleader, and the others just followed along. So I made her the bad guy, sort of. Like the Regina George of the group.**

**Review, please!**


	7. Making Up For Lost Time

**Summary: AU where Fantine lives and Valjean is exonerated of all charges after the Champmathieu affair. Fantine and Valjean are engaged and soon to be married.**

* * *

"Papa, I'm tired," Cosette whined, getting up from the floor of the mayor's office. "I want to go play by myself now."

"Not yet, Cosette."

"But why not?"

"Because your mother hasn't gotten to play with you since you were a baby, and she wants to make up for lost time," he said kindly. "You'll understand when you're older."

"But I don't want to play with Maman. Her games are boring." She jumped back in surprise when the two adults began laughing. "It's not funny," she insisted. "You say you want me to have fun, but you're only picking gamed that you like."

At this, Valjean felt himself get genuinely angry. "Now listen here, young lady," he told her, grabbing her by the collar and staring her down. "Your mother has done a lot for your sake that she didn't want to do. Now it's your turn to do something for her, something incredibly minuscule in comparison to everything she's done. So if you want supper tonight, you'd better sit back down and do exactly as she says."

"Monsieur!" Fantine exclaimed. "How could you threaten your own child with going to bed hungry? You know how those awful Thénardiers starved her!"

"I'm sorry, Fantine," said Valjean, backing down in shame. "And Cosette, I'm sorry to you too. I would never dream of punishing you in such a way."

Cosette was silent. She looked down and started to sniffle.

"What do you say, dear?" Fantine asked gently.

"I forgive you," she muttered in Valjean's direction.

"Truly?" Fantine goaded her.

Cosette nodded.

"Are you excited to have Monsieur Madeleine as your father?"

"Yes, Madame."

Fantine leaned close to her fiancé and whispered to him. "She's thrilled."

* * *

**An hour later**

Fantine listened to her husband sing casually to himself, softly yet passionately, as he walked down the hall to his private study. He had a lovely, strong baritone voice, she thought. It was a pity he didn't share it with people more often. He was singing a soulful tune, the kind to which only longtime vagrants and prisoners could do justice. He knew how to sing as if no one in the world could hear him, and if they could, he didn't care.

"How on earth do you manage to be so good with children?" she asked him once he was at her side.

"I am a good mayor, aren't I?"

"Yes," she said, pressing her hand on his chest.

"So if I am good at managing the dozens of children masquerading as grown gentlemen who come to my office asking for this or that, shouldn't I be quite skilled at entertaining a little girl who is much more mature than they are?"

Fantine giggled. It was true; many of Montreuil's gentlemen lacked even the patience and common sense found in young children. In private, Madeleine always knew how to take them down a notch without being cruel.

"She has your eyes," he said, bending his head down towards her.

"And your soul. I gave her many things, but the best one was you."

"She'll never understand," Valjean whispered as Fantine kissed his cheek. "I can't make her understand all you've done for her without destroying her innocence."

"If you say the word 'martyr' one more time with reference to me, I swear I'll stop speaking to you," said Fantine, pulling back. "I am not a martyr; I only did what I had to in order to survive. And I'm alive, aren't I?"

"Yes, but you came very close to death," he reminded her gently, following her around the room. "And you were ready to accept it gracefully, for Cosette's sake."

"If I'm a martyr, then so are you," she said haughtily. "And you sacrificed yourself for a complete stranger, which I wouldn't have done in a million years. That makes you better than me."

"Cosette was a stranger to you until a few weeks ago," he reminded her.

"A child is never a stranger to her mother," Fantine contradicted him.

"And Champmathieu was no stranger to me. Because a brother is never a stranger to his brother."

She smiled up at him.

"What are you smiling at?" he asked her, cracking a smile himself.

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes," she said, making circles on his blouse with the palm of her hand. "You see, the day I found out I was pregnant with Cosette, I knew that her father would always have a special place in my heart."

"And?"

"And now..." She drew closer to him. "Now you are Cosette's father."

He kissed her cheek and looked out the window at the sunny sky. "We both have lots of lost time to make up for," he said thoughtfully.

She embraced him tighter, cushioning herself in his scarred body. "And plenty more time in which to do it."


	8. The Story of Those Who Always Loved You

**A/N: Thanks to Elodie . Haven for beta-ing this chapter!**

**Summary: a sequel to Chapter Seven. Valjean and Fantine's blossoming relationship from Cosette's point of view. Set around Christmas 1823, so imagine lots of mistletoe, Père Nöel dolls, and old-timey knickknacks like that. Basically, a cute little Valtine Christmas special. **

* * *

Everyone in Montreuil-sur-Mer thought that Maire Madeleine and Fantine were the cutest, most enviable couple they had ever seen. Everyone, that is, except their daughter Cosette.

People stopped in the street to look at the happy couple passing by. Whenever they went into a shop together, Fantine's tiny arm wrapped around her husband's broad one, the bells jingling as they opened the door, the smiles of the shopkeepers warmed them just as much as their thick winter coats. People flocked to the windows as if amazed that their lofty mayor- even loftier now for having been a convict- had finally found love, symbolized by the little girl who always walked underfoot with them. There was a lot of confusion about the girl's parentage; many people thought that she was Madeleine's long-lost daughter from a clandestine affair. Still, they were amazed because they had never thought that their hearts would open to a prisoner and a love child being the mayor and the mayor's daughter.

Cosette, of course, did not understand the significance of their relationship. She enjoyed being dolled up and chaperoned around town as much as any little girl would, but she did not think of it as anything but personal for her and her parents. She did not understand why she was an instant celebrity in her mother's home town, why people pushed past each other to get a glimpse of her in her newest clothes, why they whispered "Paris" and "London" and even "America" whenever she went out in public. She clutched Catherine tighter in her arms, fearing that the Thénardiess could be hidden within this crowd waiting to snatch her and take her back to the inn for a beating.

However, this new routine was overall quite agreeable, for a girl who was used to being locked away and worked like an animal. The only bad part was when her parents leaned in for a kiss. They would look at each other with lingering and meaningful glances, then tenderly move towards each other and mash their faces into a grotesque aberration from which Cosette always averted her eyes. She couldn't fathom why this caused some people to laugh. Kissing was gross. If grown-ups had to do it, they should do it in private when no one else was looking.

It was Fantine who first noticed her aversion. She pulled away from her husband in a state of pure and utter bliss, and her glance drifted downward to her daughter, whose head was turned aside and whose eyes were squeezed shut as if she had just tasted something very sour. Fantine was torn between shock, hurt, and a sudden urge to laugh. She had forgotten that charming, endearing aspect of children, which is that they are typically disgusted by any indication of romantic love.

When they arrived back home from the pastry shop that morning, Fantine took her daughter aside and kneeled down with her on the bed. "Cosette, why did you turn away when your papa and I kissed?" she asked kindly.

Cosette shrugged, not wanting to offend her mother. "I don't know," she whispered, hiding behind her hair.

"Aren't you happy for Papa and me?"

Cosette stared at her mother in confusion. What did that even mean? How could you be happy for someone else? Either you were happy or you weren't. Until recently, Cosette had never been happy. She had thought that happiness was what children like Éponine and Azelma had, the feeling of having new dresses or a doll all your own. It had never occurred to her to feel happy for them. She scratched the backside of her ear nervously.

"Cosette, I understand that you may not like it when Papa and I kiss in public, but looking away and making faces is very rude. Don't do it, all right? Cosette- look at me." Fantine grasped Cosette's cheeks and turned them towards her sternly.

Cosette couldn't look up at Fantine. She was shocked. Her mother had never spoken to her this way before. "Wh- what do you want me to do?" she finally got up the nerve to stutter.

"You don't have to look right at us, just don't act disgusted when we display our affection. We're your parents, and we love you, but we need you to be supportive of us. Your behavior right now is unacceptable. When you get older, the people of this town will start to judge you for what you do and how you present yourself. We need to all put up a front together."

"B- but why do you have to kiss in public?" Cosette asked, wringing her arms.

Fantine laughed drily. "Someday you will want to hug and kiss boys in public too," she said with a smile.

Cosette scoffed. "No, I won't," she said. "I hate boys. They're disgusting."

Fantine sighed wearily. "You won't always think so," she said, lying down.

"Yes, I will," Cosette pouted.

"You love Papa, don't you?"

Cosette nodded. More than anything.

"Isn't he a boy?"

"No. He's a man. That's different," Cosette explained.

"Don't you think that he must have been a boy once?" Fantine pressed her.

"No," Cosette said, causing Fantine to burst out laughing.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I just can't imagine him doing...boy things."

Cosette was confused when her mother erupted into giggles yet again.

"Cosette, someday I am going to have to teach you all about men and boys," said Fantine when she had regained her composure. "Today is not that day. But for now, I will need you to promise me that you will remember what I have said to you about minding your manners. Being privileged comes with a certain set of responsibilities, and one of those is to always be polite and respectful of one's elders. Can you do that?"

Cosette nodded. The last thing she would ever want to do would be to hurt her mother.

"Good," said Fantine, bopping the underside of Cosette's chin playfully. "Then we can never speak of this again, not even to your papa. It can stay our little secret."


	9. Wildwood Flower

**A/N: Once again, thanks to Elodie . Haven for being my beta!**

**Summary: Based on the traditional Appalachian folk tune "Wildwood Flower", which I thought was quite fitting for Fantine in how she got over Tholomyès. Not exactly Valjean/Fantine. Lyrics are in the public domain.**

* * *

_I will twine with your tresses of raven black hair_

_With the roses so red and the lilies so fair_

_With the myrtle as bright as the emerald dew_

_The pale and the lyder and eyes of light blue._

Fantine sang the lullaby softly to Cosette as she walked down the cobblestone road, cradling the two-year-old in her arms. The little girl's wavy hair was still too short to braid. Fantine imagined that one day it would be long and golden, like her own, and not black like that of the girl in the song. How she would enjoy seeing how Cosette had grown up when she came back to Montfermeil in a year or two! How she would enjoy playing with her daughter's beautiful hair!

Cosette was fast asleep. The child seemed to love her mother's lullabies. When she returned, Fantine would make sure that Cosette knew this one by heart. She herself, not having parents, had not grown up with lullabies or music of any kind. She felt a lack in this respect that no child, especially not her Cosette, should ever have to endure. She wanted more than anything to lie in a meadow for hours with her daughter, singing the simple songs with which she was familiar, picking the flowers and the grasses and making matching crowns for mother and child. At least, she thought, Cosette did have eyes of light blue. And she could always change the words to make them fit better.

* * *

_Oh, he promised to love me, he promised to love_

_And to cherish me always all others above_

_I woke from my dream and my idol was clay,_

_My passion for loving had vanished away._

Fantine waved goodbye to Cosette, Madame Thénardier and the little Thénardier girls and set down the road to Montreuil-sur-Mer. On the way, she kept her head down and tried not to think about the man who was responsible for getting her into this mess- Félix Tholomyès. If he had been so smart, how had he not seen what his abandonment would do to her and their daughter? She knew the answer, of course, but didn't want to say it aloud: he had known, and he hadn't cared. In fact, he had found it amusing. He had all the material wealth to provide for the three of them, but not the willingness to do so. Why not? It would cost him nothing. Even if he didn't love her anymore- even if he had never loved her, and their whole affair had been a lie- he could have at least had the decency to leave her some money and a respectable employer who didn't ask too many questions. But no, even that was not to be.

What made it worse was that her friends had not stood up for her. Surely out of the three of them, at least one would have lent her a helping hand in her hour of need, instead of callously laughing her off. Serves you right, they had told her, for being so foolish. If he had forced himself on you, that would be different, you would have our sympathies. But you let him in, and you don't have a single good excuse for it. Maybe now you'll learn to think before you trust.

Fantine scowled. She had learned, all right.

She hated men. She hated women. The only creatures she could not hate were children, because they were the only ones who were never fickle.

* * *

_Oh, he taught me to love him; he called me his flower_

_A blossom to cheer him through life's weary hour,_

_But now he is gone, he's left me alone_

_The wild flowers to weep and the wild birds to mourn._

Fantine hardly felt like a flower anymore. If she were a flower, she would be pressed, wilted, dried, and left to decay in the meadow. Looking out the window of her tiny apartment after her shift, she felt as if the whole world were mourning along with her for her sorry fate. The birds were no longer hopping through the streets and flying over the rooftops, but had all retreated to the warmth of their nests. Fantine envied them their security.

Winter was approaching, and everything outside was dreary and gray. This was her third year of working at the jewelry factory, and she was still no closer to having saved up enough money to send for Cosette. On the contrary, she was hopelessly indebted to the Thénardiers. She did not know which feeling was worse: not being able to pay for everything Cosette needed, or leaving that poor mother struggling to care for her own children due to Fantine's inadequacy at paying back her loans.

So now Félix had saddled those good people, as well as her, with a child that none of them could afford except for him. If she had ever gotten a response from him to any of her letters, she would have sent Cosette to him without hesitation. Sure, he'd be a horrible father, but at least he could fill her belly every night and have plenty of sous to spare for himself. If it ever came down to it, Fantine knew that she would trade Cosette's spiritual welfare for her material security. She had no doubt that her little girl's soul would go to heaven someday, but for now it must be kept firmly on earth by whatever means necessary.

What weary hour had Félix ever known? What hard labor had he done? What was the darkest depths in which he had ever found himself? Perhaps his conscience would finally catch up to him someday, she thought bitterly, but she doubted it. By now she had given all hope of ever seeing him again. What would she do if she did? She would be torn between kissing him and punching him in the face. What use would either be? He probably wouldn't even recognize her. She had lost too much of her beauty, her childlike innocence. That had all been transferred to Cosette. And Fantine would do anything to make sure she didn't lose it.

* * *

_I'll dance and I'll sing and my life shall be gay_

_I'll charm every heart in the crowd I survey_

_Though my heart now is breaking he never will know_

_How his name makes me tremble, my pale cheeks to glow._

Fantine put on her best fake smile as she headed out to the docks. She knew she had to be charming and seductive if she were to compete with all the other prostitutes who emerged in the evening. The customers were filthy, hideous, even the ones who were very handsome and well-dressed. She told herself that they could make her forget about her troubles for an hour or two, if she let them. It was all a question of her own state of mind.

The rouge on her cheeks itched, but at least it kept her warm. She remembered to smile only with her mouth closed, lest potential customers see her missing teeth and walk away in disgust. It lent her an air of mystery, of modesty even. These days she hardly ever thought about Félix anymore. It was just another name, just another straw in the massive haystack of her misfortunes. Forgiveness was too strong a word for how she felt about him now; it was more like forgetting. As bad as Félix had been, he hadn't been responsible for sending her to the docks. There's no way he could have known she would fall so far in such a short amount of time.

How ironic, she thought, that all this time she could have had any man she wanted. But it had taken becoming a whore to realize it. Now, even the men she didn't want flocked to her. She had always known that she was beautiful; what she had had to learn was how ugly others could be.

* * *

_I'll dance and I'll sing and my heart will be gay_

_I'll banish this weeping, drive troubles away._

_I'll live yet to see that he'll rue this dark hour_

_When he won and neglected this frail wildwood flower._

"You're going to live." That's what the doctor had told her, and since Maire Madeleine and Soeur Simplice were standing by him when he said it, she had no doubt that it was true. She would recover from this blasted illness and see her Cosette again. There was still hope. Madeleine had even promised to go fetch Cosette from the Thénardiers. She must be six or seven by now, with hair long enough to braid and a head full of lullabies.

As he turned to leave, Fantine called to Maire Madeleine and drew him in closer. There was one more request she had to make of him. But looking into his kind, all-knowing, benevolent brown eyes, she couldn't do it. Staring at him was like seeing the face of God, and she couldn't ask God to fulfill such an unspeakable request.

Less than a week later, Fantine was buried in an unmarked grave behind the convent where she had died, and Madeleine was locked away in the city jail, never knowing the words that had failed to escape Fantine's dry, cracked lips.

"If you ever find Félix Tholomyès... kill him for me."


End file.
